by Sapper
“Here it is,” he announced. “Put ’em both in an envelope together and address it to Joe. I’m going along; I’ll post it.”
“Will you have a small tiddley before you go?” Mr Johnson opened a formidable-looking safe, disclosing all the necessary- looking ingredients for the manufacture of small tiddleys.
“I don’t mind if I do,” conceded the other. “Here’s the best – and to the future Mrs Joe.”
A moment or two later he passed through the outer office and was swallowed up in the crowd. And it was not till after lunch that day that Mr Johnson got the shock of his life – when he opened one of the early evening papers.
“DARING ROBBERY IN WELL-KNOWN CITY FIRM.
“A most daring outrage was carried out last night at the office of Messrs Smith and Co, the well-known financial and insurance brokers. At a late hour this morning, some time after work was commenced, the night watchman was discovered bound and securely gagged in a room at the top of the premises. Further investigation revealed that the safe had been opened – evidently by a master hand – and the contents rifled. The extent of the loss is at present unknown, but the police are believed to possess several clues.”
And at the same time that Mr Johnson was staring with a glassy stare at this astounding piece of news, a tall, spare man with lazy blue eyes, stretched out comfortably in the corner of a first-class carriage, was also perusing it.
“Several clues,” he murmured. “I wonder! But it was a very creditable job, though I say it myself.”
Which seemed a strange soliloquy for a well-dressed man in a first-class carriage. And what might have seemed almost stranger, had there been any way of knowing such a recondite fact, was that in one of the mail bags reposing in the back of the train, a mysterious transformation had taken place. For a letter which had originally contained two documents and had been addressed to J Perrison, Esq, now contained three and was consigned to Miss Sybil Daventry. Which merely goes to show how careful one should be over posting letters.
IV
“Good evening, Mr Perrison. All well, and taking nourishment, so to speak?”
Archie Longworth lounged into the hall, almost colliding with the other man.
“You look pensive,” he continued, staring at him blandly. “Agitato, fortissimo. Has aught occurred to disturb your masterly composure?”
But Mr Perrison was in no mood for fooling: a message he had just received over the telephone had very considerably disturbed his composure.
“Let me have a look at that paper,” he snapped, making a grab at it.
“Tush! Tush!” murmured Archie. “Manners, laddie, manners! You’ve forgotten that little word.”
And then at the far end of the hall he saw the girl, and caught his breath. For the last two days he had almost forgotten her in the stress of other things; now the bitterness of what had to come rose suddenly in his throat and choked him.
“There is the paper. Run away and play in a corner.”
Then he went forward to meet her with his usual lazy smile.
“What’s happened?” she cried, a little breathlessly.
“Heaps of things,” he said, gently. “Heaps of things. The principal one being that a very worthless sinner loves a very beautiful girl – as he never believed it could be given to man to love.” His voice broke and faltered: then he went on steadily. “And the next one – which is really even more important – is that the very beautiful girl will receive a letter in a long envelope by tonight’s mail. The address will be typed, the postmark Strand. I do not want the beautiful girl to open it except in my presence. You understand?”
“I understand,” she whispered, and her eyes were shining.
“Have you seen this?” Perrison’s voice – shaking with rage – made Longworth swing round.
“Seen what, dear lad?” he murmured, taking the paper. “Robbery in City – is that what you mean? Dear, dear – what dastardly outrages do go unpunished these days! Messrs Smith and Co. Really! Watchman bound and gagged. Safe rifled. Work of a master hand. Still, though I quite understand your horror as a law-abiding citizen at such a thing, why this thusness? I mean – altruism is wonderful, laddie; but it seems to me that it’s jolly old Smith and Co who are up the pole.”
He burbled on genially, serenely unconscious of the furious face of the other man.
“I’m trying to think where I’ve met you before, Mr Longworth,” snarled Perrison.
“Never, surely,” murmured the other. “Those classic features, I feel sure, would have been indelibly printed on my mind. Perhaps in some mission, Mr Perrison – some evangelical revival meeting. Who knows? And there, if I mistake not, is the mail.”
He glanced at the girl, and she was staring at him wonderingly. Just for one moment did he show her what she wanted to know – just for one moment did she give him back the answer which was to him the sweetest and at the same time the most bitter in the world. Then he crossed the hall and picked up the letters.
“A business one for you, Miss Daventry,” he murmured, mildly. “Better open it at once, and get our business expert’s advice. Mr Perrison is a wonderful fellah for advice.”
With trembling fingers she opened the envelope, and, as he saw the contents, Perrison, with a snarl of ungovernable fury, made as if to snatch them out of her hand. The next moment he felt as if his arm was broken, and the blue eyes boring into his brain were no longer lazy.
“You forgot yourself, Mr Perrison,” said Archie Longworth, gently. “Don’t do that again.”
“But I don’t understand,” cried the girl, bewildered. “What are these papers?”
“May I see?” Longworth held out his hand, and she gave them to him at once.
“They’re stolen.” Perrison’s face was livid. “Give them to me, curse you.”
“Control yourself, you horrible blighter,” said Longworth, icily. “This,” he continued, calmly, “would appear to be a receipt from Messrs Gross and Sons for the return of a pearl necklace – sent out to Mr Daventry on approval.”
“But you said he’d bought it and pawned it.” She turned furiously on Perrison.
“So he did,” snarled that gentleman. “That’s a forgery.”
“Is it?” said Longworth. “That strikes me as being Johnson’s signature. Firm’s official paper. And – er – he has the necklace, I – er – assume.”
“Yes – he has the necklace. Stolen last night by – by–” His eyes were fixed venomously on Longworth.
“Go on,” murmured the other. “You’re being most enter-taining.”
But a sudden change had come over Perrison’s face – a dawning recognition. “By God!” he muttered, “you’re – you’re–”
“Yes. I’m – who? It’ll come in time, laddie – if you give it a chance. And in the meantime we might examine these other papers. Now, this appears to my inexperienced eye to be a transaction entered into on the one part by Messrs Smith and Co and on the other by William Daventry. And it concerns filthy lucre. Dear, dear. Twenty-five per cent per month. Three hundred per cent. Positive usury, Mr Perrison. Don’t you agree with me? A rapacious bloodsucker is Mr Smith.”
But the other man was not listening: full recollection had come to him, and with a cold look of triumph he put his hands into his pockets and laughed.
“Very pretty,” he remarked. “Very pretty indeed. And how, in your vernacular, do you propose to get away with the swag, Mr Flash Pete? I rather think the police – whom I propose to call up on the phone in one minute – will be delighted to see such an old and elusive friend.”
He glanced at the girl, and laughed again at the look on her face.
“What’s he mean, Archie?” she cried, wildly. “What’s he mean?”
“I mean,” Perrison sneered, “that Mr Archie Longworth is what is generally desc
ribed as a swell crook with a reputation in certain unsavoury circles extending over two or three continents. And the police, whom I propose to ring up, will welcome him as a long-lost child.”
He walked towards the telephone, and with a little gasp of fear the girl turned to Archie.
“Say it’s not true, dear – say it’s not true.”
For a moment he looked at her with a whimsical smile; then he sat down on the high fender round the open fire.
“I think, Mr Perrison,” he murmured, gently, “that if I were you I would not be too precipitate over ringing up the police. The engaging warrior who sent this letter to Miss Daventry put in yet one more enclosure.”
Perrison turned round: then he stood very still.
“A most peculiar document,” continued the man by the fire, in the same gentle voice, “which proves very conclusively that amongst their other activities Messrs Smith and Co are not only the receivers of stolen goods, but are mixed up with illicit diamond buying.”
In dead silence the two men stared at one another; then Longworth spoke again.
“I shall keep these three documents, Mr Perrison, as a safeguard for your future good behaviour. Mr Daventry can pay a certain fair sum or not as he likes – that is his business: and I shall make a point of explaining exactly to him who and what you are – and Smith – and Gross. But should you be disposed to make any trouble over the necklace – or should the idea get abroad that Flash Pete was responsible for the burglary last night – it will be most unfortunate for you – most. This document would interest Scotland Yard immensely.”
Perrison’s face had grown more and more livid as he listened, and when the quiet voice ceased, unmindful of the girl standing by, he began to curse foully and hideously. The next moment he cowered back, as two iron hands gripped his shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled.
“Stop, you filthy swine,” snarled Longworth, “or I’ll break every bone in your body. Quite a number of men are blackguards, Perrison – but you’re a particularly creeping and repugnant specimen. Now – get out – and do it quickly. The nine-thirty will do you nicely. And don’t forget what I’ve just said: because, as there’s a God above, I mean it.”
“I’ll be even with you for this some day, Flash Pete,” said the other venomously over his shoulder. “And then–”
“And then,” said Longworth, contemptuously, “we will resume this discussion. Just now – get out.”
V
“Yes: it is quite true.” She had known it was – and yet, womanlike, she had clung to the hope that there was some mistake – some explanation. And now, alone with the man she had grown to love, the faint hope died. With his lazy smile, he stared down at her – a smile so full of sorrow and pain that she could not bear to see it.
“I’m Flash Pete – with an unsavoury reputation, as our friend so kindly told you, in three continents. It was I who broke open the safe at Smith’s last night, I who got the receipt from Gross. You see, I spotted the whole trick from the beginning; as I said, I had inside information. And Perrison is Smith and Co; moreover he’s very largely Gross as well – and half a dozen other rotten things in addition. The whole thing was worked with one end in view right from the beginning: the girl your brother originally bought the pearls for was in it; it was she who suggested the pawning. Bill told me that the night before last.” He sighed and paced two or three times up and down the dim-lit conservatory. And after a while he stopped in front of her again, and his blue eyes were very tender.
“Just a common sneak-thief – just a common worthless sinner. And he’s very, very glad that he has been privileged to help the most beautiful girl in all the world. Don’t cry, my dear, don’t cry: there’s nothing about that sinner’s that’s worth a single tear of yours. You must forget his wild presumption in falling in love with that beautiful girl: his only excuse is that he couldn’t help it. And maybe, in the days to come, the girl will think kindly every now and then of a man known to some as Archie Longworth – known to others as Flash Pete – known to himself as – well, we won’t bother about that.”
He bent quickly and raised her hand to his lips; then he was gone almost before she had realised it. And if he heard her little gasping cry – “Archie, my man, come back – I love you so!” he gave no sign.
For in his own peculiar code a very worthless sinner must remain a very worthless sinner to the end – and he must run the course alone.
Chapter 9
Jimmy Lethbridge’s Temptation
I
“What a queer little place, Jimmy!” The girl glanced round the tiny restaurant with frank interest, and the man looked up from the menu he was studying with a grin.
“Don’t let François hear you say that, or you’ll be asked to leave.” The headwaiter was already bearing down on them, his face wreathed in an expansive smile of welcome. “To him it is the only restaurant in London.”
“Ah, m’sieur! it is long days since you were here.” The little Frenchman rubbed his hands together delightedly. “And mam’selle – it is your first visit to Les Coquelins, n’est-ce-pas?”
“But not the last, I hope, François,” said the girl with a gentle smile.
“Ah, mais non!” Outraged horror at such an impossible idea shone all over the headwaiter’s face. “My guests, mam’selle, they come here once to see what it is like – and they return because they know what it is like.”
Jimmy Lethbridge laughed.
“There you are, Molly,” he cried. “Now you know what’s expected of you. Nothing less than once a week – eh, François?”
“Mais oui, m’sieur. There are some who come every night.” He produced his pencil and stood waiting. “A few oysters,” he murmured. “They are good ce soir: real Whitstables. And a bird, M’sieur Lethbridge – with an omelette aux fines herbes–”
“Sounds excellent, François,” laughed the man. “Anyway, I know that once you have decided – argument is futile.”
“It is my work,” answered the waiter, shrugging his shoulders. “And a bottle of Corton – with the chill just off. Toute de suite.”
Francois bustled away, and the girl looked across the table with a faintly amused smile in her big grey eyes.
“He fits the place, Jimmy. You must bring me here again.”
“Just as often as you like, Molly,” answered the man quietly, and after a moment the girl turned away. “You know,” he went on steadily, “how much sooner I’d bring you to a spot like this, than go to the Ritz or one of those big places. Only I was afraid it might bore you. I love it: it’s so much more intimate.”
“Why should you think it would bore me?” she asked, drawing off her gloves and resting her hands on the table in front of her. They were beautiful hands, ringless save for one plain signet ring on the little finger of her left hand. And, almost against his will, the man found himself staring at it as he answered: “Because I can’t trust myself, dear; I can’t trust myself to amuse you,” he answered slowly. “I can’t trust myself not to make love to you – and it’s so much easier here than in the middle of a crowd whom one knows.”
The girl sighed a little sadly.
“Oh, Jimmy, I wish I could! You’ve been such an absolute dear. Give me a little longer, old man, and then – perhaps–”
“My dear,” said the man hoarsely, “I don’t want to hurry you. I’m willing to wait years for you – years. At least” – he smiled whimsically – “I’m not a little bit willing to wait years – really. But if it’s that or nothing – then, believe me, I’m more than willing.”
“I’ve argued it out with myself, Jimmy.” And now she was staring at the signet ring on her finger. “And when I’ve finished the argument, I know that I’m not a bit further on. You can’t argue over things like that. I’ve told myself times out of number that it isn’t fair to you – ”
He started to speak, but she stopped him with a smile.
“No, dear man, it is not fair to you – whatever you like to say. It isn’t fair to you even though you may agree to go on waiting. No one has a right to ask another person to wait indefinitely, though I’m thinking that is exactly what I’ve been doing. Which is rather like a woman,” and once again she smiled half sadly.
“But I’m willing to wait, dear,” he repeated gently. “And then I’m willing to take just as much as you care to give. I won’t worry you, Molly; I won’t ask you for anything you don’t feel like granting me. You see, I know now that Peter must always come first. I had hoped that you’d forget him; I still hope, dear, that in time you will–”
She shook her head, and the man bit his lip.
“Well, even if you don’t, Molly,” he went on steadily, “is it fair to yourself to go on when you know it’s hopeless? There can be no doubt now that he’s dead; you know it yourself – you’ve taken off your engagement ring – and is it fair to – you? Don’t worry about me for the moment – but what is the use? Isn’t it better to face facts?”
The girl gave a little laugh that was half a sob.
“Of course it is, Jimmy. Much better. I always tell myself that in my arguments.” Then she looked at him steadily across the table. “You’d be content, Jimmy – would you? – with friendship at first.”
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I would be content with friendship.”
“And you wouldn’t bother me – ah, no! forgive me, I know you wouldn’t. Because, Jimmy, I don’t want there to be any mistake. People think I’ve got over it because I go about; in some ways I have. But I seem to have lost something – some part of me. I don’t think I shall ever be able to love a man again. I like you, Jimmy – like you most frightfully – but I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to love you in the way I loved Peter.”